


The Old Man and the Frat Boy

by thalialunacy



Series: Frat Boy [1]
Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-08
Updated: 2009-07-08
Packaged: 2017-10-26 16:36:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/285490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thalialunacy/pseuds/thalialunacy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one with the Beer Pong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Old Man and the Frat Boy

**Author's Note:**

> **Summary** : Beer. Jokes about sororities. Sex. An almost-typical Tuesday.  
>  **Warnings** : Dirty, dirty slash. POV changes. Un-beta’d.  
>  **Disclaimer** : Obviously fictional content is FICTIONAL. Please, please don’t sue me. And don’t be hatin. We just like the fuckin.  
>  **Dedication/Prompt/Etc** : This was for starsfell. The interview referenced at the beginning can be found [here](http://thalialunacy.livejournal.com/992898.html) (and if you haven’t watched it, you should, because it’s fucking _hilarious_ ). And the beer referenced [does exist](http://www.mendobrew.com/brews/blue_heron.html).  
>  **ETA** : This story has been [translated into Chinese](http://c.blog.sina.com.cn/profile.php?blogid=ebdf69a889000j93) by the gracious zhuobuer!

“Oh, come _on_.” Chris waves his beer bottle around. The dry LA evening has necessitated the deck, some beers, and the careless casting off of shoes. And somehow the conversation has worked around to a favorite topic: Karl’s dislike of swear words. “The movie _is_ the tits. Her _tits_ were the tits. Come on! It’s a great expression. What’s got your panties in a bunch?”

“Proper people don’t use that word, at least not in public,” Karl says, picking at the label on his beer absently.

Chris snorts. “Proper. Says the guy who has taken his shirt off in just about—“ He puts a finger to his chin and pretends to think. “—every movie he’s ever been in. Except, ironically, for the one that got called ‘the tits.’”

Karl reaches out and cuffs him on the back of the head. “It’s a paycheck and you know it. Not all of us can be in teen rom coms until we’re thirty.”

“Hey, watch it. I know where you sleep.”

Karl smiles one of his half-smiles. “Well, that would be because most people sleep in the same place every night.”

Chris puts his hand over his heart. “Direct hit! Jesus, old man, what crawled up your ass and died?”

Karl leans back with a laugh and covers his eyes. “You are awful.”

“Whatever. At least I can admit it when I need to get laid.”

Karl’s hand shifts over so his left eye can open to regard the man-child next to him. “That’s your grand theory?”

Chris shrugs. “Clearly, you haven’t dropped a load in a while.”

The eye shuts again and the hand drops back down. “You’re disgusting.”

“Yeah, but I’m right.” Chris takes a swig.

“Says who.” It’s not a question.

“Call it a hunch.” He straightens suddenly, his face lighting up. “DUDE. I’ve got the greatest idea to get your mind off it.”

“I do not want to watch porn.”

“Actually, that’s a good idea, too, but no. Not what I was thinking.”

“Super Smash Brothers?”

“No way, you’re too easy to beat.”

“I owned you last time, if you’ll recall, so shut it.”

“Oh yeah. Well. That’s just because you have kids.”

“And that would totally work as an excuse, excepting the fact that you _are_ a kid.”

“Yeah, because eight years your junior is so fucking young.”

“When you get to be this old, call me and tell me how you feel about your 28 year old friends. I bet it will be all, ‘Oh Kaaaaarl, you were so riiiiiight.’” His affected California—and Pine—accent is offensively accurate, and a smile sneaks onto Chris’ lips.

“All right, I will, I’ll call you. And I bet you I won’t be a patronizing asshole like you’ve turned into.” Karl grunts a half-laugh, and Chris ruffles his hair as he stands up. “Come on. There’s something awesome we could be doing in weather like this.”

“This isn’t ‘weather’, you punk.”

“Yeah, yeah, everything is more badass in New Zealand, I’ve heard it. Just shut up and come to the garage.”

Karl sits up, despite his protestations, and regards Chris with a smirk. “We gonna change your oil?”

“Please, I pay someone for that. No. Out in my garage is a ping pong table.”

Karl laughs out loud at that. “Really? Never pictured you as the—”

“And keg cups.”

“Keg cups? Well, alright, drunken ping-pong could be diverting, I suppose, but—”

“No. Not drunken ping-pong. Well, not exactly.”

He pauses, his face positively _beaming_. He looks as if he’s about to hand Karl the world on a platter.

“We’re gonna play some motherfucking BEER PONG.”

Karl stares at him, disbelief written all over his features. “No. I don’t even know what that is, but no, we are not.”

“Oh, we so are. Come on.” He drags Karl up by the arm and shoves him towards the door to the house. “Kitchen first,” he fills in when Karl shoots a glance over his shoulder. “We have to get supplies.”

“Are you really going to make me do this?”

“Sure, why not? It’ll take your mind off things.”

“You’re assuming I’m a simpleton, then, if you think that’ll do it.”

Chris just grins. “Oh, trust me. It’ll work. It’s like magic.”

\---

Two rounds later, Karl has to admit that Chris is at least partially right. He’s sporting a nice buzz and the ridiculousness of the whole thing has stopped his teeth from grinding. “Although I think it’s the fact that you’re grown up enough to not be using, I dunno, PBR or something.” He peers at one of red cups. “This stuff is good. What is it again?”

“Blue Heron pale.” Chris glares at him a little. “I did graduate college, you know.”

“Yeah, clearly,” Karl says with a smirk as he tosses a ball in a perfect arc. “Damn, I’m good.”

“And I was never actually _in_ a frat.”

“Yup, I know. Now drink that.” He winks at Chris, who laughs and shakes his head as he downs the beer.

“And this is fucking great beer.”

“Are we playing the List Things That Are True game? You should’ve told me. Chris Pine is losing at beer pong. That’s true. What else? Chris Pine drives a tiny car. That’s also true, and MUST mean someth—“

“I am NOT losing.”

Karl gives him the eyebrow.

“Goddamit, I’m not losing. Okay, correction, I’m not GOING to lose.”

“Ah. A fine distinction.”

A few minutes later, though: “REMATCH. I CALL REMATCH.”

Karl grins. “Give up. Clearly I’m more qualified to be a frat boy than you are. Which is pathetic, considering I’ve got nearly a decade on you.”

Chris shakes his head. “No way. We’re playing again.” He strides over to Karl’s side of the table and crouches down to peer down the length of the playing surface. “And we’re switching sides.” He stands, tapping a finger on his upper lip. “ _And_ we’re switching to vodka.”

“Vodka? Now you’re a sorority girl?” he calls after Chris as he goes to get the liquor.

“Shut the fuck up, it’s what I have.” Two shot glasses and a tall bottle get plonked down on the table.

“I stand corrected. You’ve always _been_ a sorority girl.”

“And we’re going to up the stakes.” He thinks for a second, that finger still worrying his mouth. “We gotta do something crazy. Truth-or-dare type crazy, only less—” His teeth glint out of a smile. “—you know, like a slumber party.”

“What, like strip beer pong?”

“Yes! Holy shit, that’s a great idea.”

“Pine, you idiot, I was kidding.”

Chris grins and makes finger-guns at him. “Too bad. You said it, we’re doing it. Call it incentive.”

“How is the possibility of seeing your pale scrawny ass incentive?”

“Puh-lease. Are you chicken?” Chris taunts, raising a hand to Karl’s chest and shoving him towards the other end of the table.

Karl rolls his eyes towards the ceiling. “Oh for heaven’s sake, you really are twelve.” He punches Chris in the shoulder before heading around to his new side. “Fine. But you might as well just start stripping now. I’m going to _own_ your ass.”

“Threat or a promise?” Chris waggles his eyebrows.

“You wish,” he says through a laugh. “I’ll even let you have first go.” He nods towards the table. “Come on, then.”

\---

RECAP OF GAME THREE:

Round 3: Chris’s shirt (blue, of course; he’s not above working his strengths) hits the floor. He tries not to grimace as he takes a shot of vodka and chases it with the remaining beer in the assaulted cup.

Round 4: Karl’s jeans (which he prefers dropping to just about anything else, as he’s kind of sick of taking his shirt off when he’s not actually going to get laid) get folded neatly on the back of one the tatty couches along the wall. He downs the vodka no problem, sipping the beer lazily and trying not to let his grin get too big.

Round 7: Chris curses and ends up standing there in merely his black boxer-briefs (even his underwear is ambivalent), trying to will Karl’s shirt off with his mind. When that doesn’t work, he pitches the ping pong ball as well as he can, and is entirely disappointed when it bounces off to the left.

Round 14: Alcohol, it surprises neither of them, impairs one’s ability to throw small things at shrinking targets. Karl has 4 cups left in front of him. Chris has 1.

\---

Karl closes one eye, sticks out his tongue, and poses with his ping pong ball-wielding hand outstretched, lining up the shot for much longer than necessary.

Chris groans defeatedly, feeling like Napoleon. Julius Caesar. Tony Blair. Pride before the fall never gets old for the powers that be, apparently. “Bastard. Just do it.”

“Hush.” There’s a resounding splash as the shot rings true. “There. Happy? Thanks to your own hubris, you’re standing in a garage on a Tuesday night, naked and drunk and a beer-pong failure.”

Chris pretends to assess his situation, looking around, taking in his garage and his state of dishabille. Then shrugs, grinning cheekily. “Could be worse.”

“It could’ve been tequila?”

“It could be with somebody else.”

 _Oh_ yeah, totally drunk.

The corner of Karl’s mouth turns up, and Chris wonders at it briefly. Then he hears him clear his throat, too, and if he didn’t know better—

“You’ve still got clothing on, too, which I believe should’ve been discarded by now.”

Chris freezes for a split second, his brain trying to catch up. Then he reaches for his waistband, prepared to call the bluff that it most surely must be. “Fine, but don’t think—“

“No, wait.”

Dingding!

His eyebrows rise and he stops, still standing there in his underwear. “What now?“

“Come here.”

Surprise catches him, and he grunts.

Karl’s voice is rough like coal and the accent is like diamonds and he’s kind of drunk? They both likely are. But Chris decides very quickly that it’s not really in anybody’s best interest for him to argue. So he cocks one eyebrow and makes his way slowly around the table. “Okay, I’m here.”

Karl’s hand is on his chest, pushing at him until the backs of his knees hit one of the Goodwill couches. “Sit.” He does. Karl slowly, far too slowly, lands on the couch, too, with a thigh on either side of his thighs, and he tries not to twitch even as he feels himself getting hard. He just looks at a point on Karl’s shoulder, his fists clenching and unclenching softly on his thighs, waiting.

Then Karl leans in, Karl puts a hand on the back of the couch on either side of his head, Karl’s mouth is open and breathing next to his ear, and his eyes slide shut against his will.

Good _Christ_ , this is not how he expected his evening to go at _all_.

Not that he’s going to complain. Unless it’s a joke. Then he’ll complain. A lot. And with really big words so Karl makes that ‘What the hell, you overeducated blowhole,’ face like he wants to shut him up any way possible. Chris has thought up a number of ways, most of which he’d be more than willing to try out—

Shit, Karl’s talking. Or, rather, breathing words into his ear in that unequivocally sexy accent. What he’s saying is not what Chris was expecting, though. “I went to college too, you know.”

Chris starts to laugh, but it collapses into a gasp when one of Karl’s hands glides down his chest to snap at the elastic of his single remaining piece of clothing. He swallows. It’s looking less like a bluff or a tease and more like—His brain backfires and the thought goes up in a puff of smoke. “Um. So?”

“And we even have beer in New Zealand,” Karl continues, thick as honey with a smile on his face. Chris can hear the smile, right against his ear, while those amazing fingers reach for his cock. Lights flash behind his eyelids.

“I’ve—“ He has to breathe as that _hand_ rides him up and down. “I’ve heard that, yeah. I’ve heard it’s crap, too.”

He feels Karl bite on the skin right below his ear and his whole body jerks. He doesn’t stifle a groan quickly enough, and he feels himself flush.

“Shut it, Pine.” Karl’s lips soothe the spot, and another small moan slips out of his mouth. And he almost doesn’t care anymore, because it feels too fucking good to give a shit about anything else. “And although the rules are a smidge different, and we had a proper name for it,” –he’s pulled the manly underwear down Chris’ legs, somehow, Chris having unconsciously lifted his hips in permission. Chris kicks at the now-unnecessary garment once or twice before giving up to concentrate on getting his hands up and under Karl’s shirt and onto that wide expanse of hot, hot skin— “I seem to recall spending a significant amount of my uni experience throwing ping pong balls into cups of beer.”

He finally hears what Karl’s saying, and his eyes fly open as he pulls his hands free of fabric to land a punch on Karl’s chest. “You cheating bastard!”

Karl tips back his head and laughs at him, capturing his fist easily and reaching down to trace his balls with a finger—Chris can’t help it if he moves his thighs just a little further apart—then sliding a hand under to cup them. “You thought it was just beginner’s luck? Natural talent?” He grins almost mischievously. “Well, okay, that last one… has merit…”

Then he leans back down again, pressing their lips together, and Chris forgets all about beer pong because _Karl_ is _kissing_ him and that’s just fucking _awesome_. The guy’s good at it, too, not strained like a girl or slobbery like a boy, but somewhere in a happy land of compromise.

What is _not_ awesome, however, is how he’s going to come in about two-point-five seconds if Karl’s hands continue on their merry way.

Yeah, fuck that.

He pushes into the kiss, shoving his tongue hotly into Karl’s mouth while he impatiently pulls his shirt up, tugging to get him to raise his arms. “Off,” he says into Karl’s lips when it seems the guy’s not going to comply. “I’ll admit you’re the beer pong champion of the fucking _world_ if you’ll just take your goddamn clothes off _right now_.”

Karl’s laugh is loud and hot against his cheek. “Promise?”

“Get the hell up, old man.”

Karl holds up his hands and does as he’s been asked. Chris tries to catch his breath, watching those big hands remove the shirt, then reach for the boxers— And then he can’t just sit there. He pushes off the couch and onto his knees, not even noticing the cold floor. His eye is on the prize, and lickety-split his hands are, too, pulling on elastic and pushing fabric down to the floor while he nuzzles the crease between the thigh and the base of the cock.

“Jesus,” Karl grunts, trying not to reel backwards, one of his hands grabbing at the ping pong table.

Chris smiles against the damp, tangy skin before leaning back on his haunches and looking up at Karl. “Probably not the world’s safest bet, that table. Sit?”

Karl nods jerkily and does so, clutching the back of Chris’s neck. As if he’s going somewhere. Pffft. Not when he has _this man_ laid out in front of him for the taking.

Karl doesn’t give it up quite that easily, though, and Chris finds himself straddling one of Karl’s thighs and getting the living daylights kissed out of him. Now, there are worse ways to pass an evening, so he lets it continue for a while, until he realizes they’re snuffling and thrusting against each other like high schoolers and that will just _not do_. He swipes Karl’s bottom lip with his tongue and slides back down onto his knees on the floor.

“Chris…” he hears Karl say quietly. He looks up at that face, and something kicks in his chest. Karl, naked as the day he was born, with huge pupils, fat red lips, a flushed neck and chest, and a sweat-sheened forehead, is clearly giving him an out.

Always a gentleman, his Karl.

Chris can’t help it; he grins. He steadies his belly against the upholstery, with his arms settled over Karl’s thighs, and plants a fat raspberry on Karl’s abdomen. Karl’s torso convulses into him with a robust laugh, and he just grins even more.

“We’re fine. See?” He doesn’t drop Karl’s gaze, but runs his hands up his thighs slowly, almost soothingly. “Now, shut up and let me fulfill one of my adolescent fantasies.”

Karl huffs, clearly trying to hide the flush the compliment brings to his cheekbones. “Well, shit, way to make me feel positively ancient.”

“Hey, you just said shit.”

Karl rolls his eyes. “You are unbelievable.”

Chris considers this, then nods. “That’s more like it.” He heads Karl’s rejoinder off at the pass by putting his nose back into that crease he’d been exploring earlier. Karl’s thighs fall further apart with a grunt, and Chris hums his approval as he licks at the skin revealed.

This is his favorite part: tasting someone for the first time, taking them into his senses like a new flavor of ice cream, fitting his tongue into all those creases and wrinkles and spaces and seeing what works and what doesn’t. Figuring out the roadmap one licked path at a time.

Karl’s patience runs out _just_ before his own. He feels fingers cup his neck and gently tilt his face up. Karl looks positively _wrecked_ , and Chris takes pity on him. “You ready for this, old man?” Karl nods tightly, and Chris sucks his cock into his mouth with alacrity.

He’s prepared for the jerk of Karl’s hips, and the fingers tightening on his scalp. He’s not prepared for the filthy word that bursts out of Karl’s mouth, however—

_“Fuck.”_

—and it’s pretty much the hottest thing he’s ever, ever heard. His cock throbs, insisting he pay it some attention, and he reaches down to stroke it lightly. He’s far too interested in Karl’s cock to really be of use to his own at the moment, though. Karl’s cock tastes fascinating, it twitches under his tongue, and when he pushes just a certain way against this one place on the right-underside, Karl’s litany of breathy nonsense syllables suddenly becomes words.

“That’s—fuck, yes, that’s good, keep— _shit_.”

Chris can’t help it; the sounds rip through him and he groans deep in his throat, now stroking himself with intent. He ups his game, sucking and licking and working that spot and enjoying the hell out of himself, just like he knew he would.

Karl begins to lose control of his hips before long, but Chris rolls with it, bracing himself and going along for the ride. He fists his cock faster and faster, feeling the pleasure build in his gut as he listens to Karl sputter gorgeous obscenities. “Ah, God, yes—Chris—just—fuck, those lips… For fuck’s sake, _please_ …”

The last word breaks him. He takes his free hand and slips it around Karl’s balls, lets Karl fuck his hollowed cheeks roughly, listens to the moans and the grunts and the _words_ , and pumps himself so hard it’s in that place of pleasurepain. His release starts to coil in the small of his back and he doesn’t know how much longer he can last—

“ _Fuck_ , don’t you fucking _dare_ stop, Chris, I’m gonna—Oh, _Christ_ —“

Chris can feel the impending orgasm in the wash of new flavors on the back of tongue, and that plus the fucking _amazing_ litany Karl keeps stuttering hoarsely are enough to make him come all over his own hand, and the couch, and maybe even Karl’s thighs, but his vision kind of blurs and he can’t tell. His mouth never falters, though, just leans a little on autopilot, but it’s enough, because Karl gives a long, low groan, shaking with the force of his own release.

Chris is classy enough to follow through, and swallows without compunction, sucking lightly in time with the contractions and congratulating himself on a job well done. Apparently this is too much for Karl, though, because he grabs Chris under the arms like a child and hauls him up against him. They become a tangle of legs and Chris rests his forehead against Karl’s temple with a laugh, trying to catch his breath.

Far too soon, he hears Karl’s voice rumble next to his cheek.

“So?”

Chris moves back a little and turns his cheek against the upholstery to look quizzically at him. “So what? Are we going to have a girly talk right now? Because let me tell you how much I’m looking forward to it if we are. We can talk about our feelings, and maybe give each other manicures—“

Karl’s lips smush into his, more to shut him up than anything, he can tell, but when he starts kissing back, Karl relaxes into it and it becomes something… well, something almost girly.

Chris pulls back and clears his throat. “So what, then?”

“I’m waiting.” The eyebrow is up and there’s a twinkle in Karl’s eye.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, I don’t even—“ Then he remembers, and laughs until he can’t laugh anymore. “You are unbelievable.”

“And you said you’d do it. Don’t make me force you.”

Chris raises an eyebrow at him, looks him up and down. “No?”

Karl pushes at him, a smile sneaking onto his face. “Not today, no. Idiot. So?”

“So FINE. OKAY.” He shifts until he’s straddling Karl’s lap, their soft cocks gently bumping into each other. “You—“ He kisses his mouth once. “—are—“ Kisses his neck. “—the—“ Adds teeth, smiling when Karl hisses in a breath. “—beer—“ Switches sides. “—pong—“ Uses more teeth, gets more of a groan than a hiss. “—champion—“ Nips at an Adam’s apple. “—of—“ Feels Karl’s cock start to twitch. “—the—“ Sucks on an earlobe. “—fucking—“ Finds a nipple with his fingers and drags a nail across it lightly. “—world.” Feels his own cock twitch, too. “Happy?”

“Extraordinarily so.” And when he pulls Chris to him to kiss him thoroughly, then pushes him down to the couch cushions, Chris goes with a smile on his lips.

__  
**FIN**  



End file.
